Egyptian Requiem
by Pearl of the Dark Age
Summary: ON HIATUS. Sorry. 3000 years ago, Dartz and his servant of Doom hunt down the Chosen Ones. Past life Amelda and Raphael are trapped within Dartz's diabolical plan, while his servant has another agenda. Priest Seto is coronated as Pharaoh Seti.
1. Holly

September 25, 2006

Revised November 17, 2007

**Disclaimer**: I don't own. Don't you know that?

_Warning_: Death of character(s).

This story is based on the past life of Amelda. It's set in Ancient Egypt and Gaul. It takes place after Atem gives Priest Seto the Millennium puzzle and makes him pharaoh. I changed _Seto_ to _Seti_ for two reasons: the first is that pharaohs adopted new names during coronation, and secondly because there are actual pharaohs in history named Seti (but none named Seto). Also, Medea (Amelda's past-self) is a woman. _The laws of metaphysics allow for a change in gender._ If you don't like this, either deal with it or don't read this fic. Bezzelba and Medea are my OCs. Bezzelba is the only OC that isn't based on a character, unlike Miru (Miruko), Phael (Raphael), and Medea. _Don't use any of them without my expressed permission._

Medea **is** named after the title character of Euripedes' play, but she **is not** based off of her. She is based off of Amelda. Also, I chose that name because it uses the same letters as _Amelda_ with the exception of _l_.

* * *

**Egyptian Requiem**

by _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Chapter 1: Holly

Golden light streamed though the branches of the trees. Remnants of morning dew still clung in the chill air as if in denial of the rising sun. The crystal blue sky sparkled with promise, and the puffy white clouds molded into breathtaking shapes. A spray of blood glittered like a thousand liquid garnets before painting the wet grass.

There was not a single bird song to herald this beautiful morning. Cries of pain and screams of fury filled the chilly air. General Phael surveyed the surrounding battle as he removed his sword from a befallen enemy. Most of his comrades were dead or dying. _How can we be losing?_ he wondered. Phael's clan was warring against an invading army. These enemy soldiers were well equipped, but they lacked the hardiness necessary to survive in Gaul. They backed away, and suddenly the battle grew silent. The crowd parted to let their leader through.

_So, they are going to decide the outcome by a one on one fight_, Phael determined. _General versus general? I can defeat any man they throw at me!_ He stood his tallest, dwarfing the enemy soldiers. He was a heavily muscled man with a calm disposition. His blonde hair reflected the risen sun, gently caressed by the morning breeze. His far-seeing light blue eyes revealed the deep love he held for his country, his cause, and his wife and son who waited for his return home from war.

Phael received a small shock. Their leader was nearly as tall as he was! But the blonde Gaul warrior had never seen anything like _this_ man before! The stranger was clad in white armor and wore his lengthy turquoise hair in a loose ponytail. Even the mismatched eyes did not disturb Phael as much as the smile. Confidence, strength, knowledge, and power exuded from this stranger in white. Deeply impressed even though a little unnerved, Phael addressed his opponent formally, "We will settle this the old way. It is a beautiful morning – one worthy of song and remembrance. Today is a good day for you to die. I wish to know your name, sir, before I kill you."

"I am Dartz, King of Atlantis," the man answered. "I look forward to crossing blades with you, Phael. I see the rumors about you are true." He smiled to himself as if he knew more than he was telling. "You are a solid man with a strong soul. I shall have to remember you after you die." Dartz' sadistic smile widened, and the potent vibe he exuded intensified.

Without warning swords clashed. Phael's clansmen who were still living and able stood side by side with the enemy. Opponents on both sides were in awe of the skills and finesse of the two that were fighting. Loud clangs of metal on metal ripped apart the quiet morning air. Just when the crowd was taking bets on the length of the fight, a yell of pain was heard amidst the grunts.

Blood splattered the ground next to a shattered shield. Phael collapsed to the earth, clutching a deep wound across his chest. Dartz stood victorious, holding an oddly colored sword, looming over the fallen titan. "Remember me, Phael, in the next life. I'm sure we'll meet again."

* * *

A three-year-old boy with clay red hair ran through the house, arms spread wide, mimicking a vulture. "I smell blood!" he cried. He ran straight into his mother, fell onto his buttocks, and laughed uncontrollably. 

"Are you calling me a rotting carcass?" his mother asked. Her silver eyes twinkled in amusement as she helped him to his feet. "That's not a nice thing to say to Mommy."

"Your hair," the boy replied, "looks like flowing blood." He fingered her long tresses in admiration. "I'm a vulture!" he cried happily. "See me find food!" He pretended to take bites out of her leg.

"If this vulture is hungry he'll have to wait for dinner." Medea gazed fondly at her son - a warm smile hid her worries of the absent father. "Miru, why don't you play outside while Mommy cooks?"

"The wind is too cold," Miru replied in a small voice. His saddened blue-grey eyes fell to the floor. "It's been whispering scary things today. I miss Daddy! He would make the wind be still!"

Medea knelt down to Miru's eye level. She thought of how long it had been since she had last seen Phael. Her heart ached for her husband and her son. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be home soon." She felt a sudden ominous weight, but she brushed it aside as her imagination. She straightened up as Miru ran out of the house to play. Braiding her blood red hair quickly to keep it out of her face, she snatched up the beheaded chicken and began to yank out the feathers.

Just as she was putting in wood for the fireplace, which doubled as an oven, she heard Miru's screams. She ran to meet him in the doorway. "Look! Daddy's home!" Miru exclaimed in joy. He ran towards the group of soldiers heading towards their house. Medea recognized her husband's comrades, but she could not see Phael. She ran out, forgetting the chicken entirely.

_He's home!_ She thought joyfully. Tears streamed down her face. _He's home! He's finally home! I won't have to sleep in a cold, empty bed anymore! Oh, my heart be still! _But her happiness was stolen away along with her breath as she reached the group of forlorn soldiers. Miru ran back to his mother in alarm. He was crying, and Medea was confused. _He is home, isn't he?_ She told Miru to wait inside the house for them, and surprisingly he obeyed. As she watched her son running into their dwelling, she could not understand why an expression of fear twisted his otherwise cute features.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry…" a soldier said from behind her. She spun around to face the group again. They gestured for her to come around the back of the horse that followed them. A cart had been hitched, and in it lay her husband.

Medea could not speak. She was faint with fear and panic. Her silver eyes brimmed with tears. "He's not… he's not… is he?"

"He's not dead, ma'am, but he is severely ill," another soldier informed. "He was wounded by a tainted sword. We don't understand why this happened. Their general called off the war after Phael fell."

"I hope good fortune comes to aid you, ma'am," a third soldier said solemnly. "We are sorry… for everything. We all have to leave quickly, too. Our wives are waiting for us as well."

They all helped Medea bring Phael into the house. She set up a bed for him by the fireplace, cleaned and dressed his already attended wounds, and covered him in blankets. The first soldier deposited Phael's leather sack at the foot of the bed. "He wanted to make sure this was returned, even if he wasn't," the first soldier informed her. She nodded, her throat tight with anxiety. "We'll be leaving now…" another soldier said gloomily. She nodded in acknowledgment. She could not bring herself to thank them or wish them a fair journey home. She could only look upon her husband's pale face.

Miru came out of hiding after his father's comrades had left, and he joined his mother. "Is Daddy going to be alright?"

Medea nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She caressed the side of Phael's chiseled face, and gasped when she saw his eyes flutter. Those sky blue eyes brought a smile to her face, and her heart leapt for joy. Phael focused his eyes after a moment onto hers. He smiled faintly and whispered something inaudible.

"Don't talk," Medea cautioned. "Try to relax. I'll take care of you. You'll be back to your old self in just a few days!" As soon as she lit the fire and put the chicken on the spit, she returned to her husband. "Don't worry, dear. Everything will be alright."

He smiled faintly again and closed his eyes peacefully. Medea leaned in close to make sure he was still breathing. She finally exhaled the weight of her anxiety when she was satisfied of his condition. She woke him up half an hour later to try and get him to eat and drink. He gulped down the water gratefully, but he could only eat a few bites of their meal of chicken and vegetables. A pained expression creased his forehead, and again he tried to talk – gesturing to the sack this time.

"Don't worry, my love. I'll take care of it later." She gave him her most encouraging smile she could muster. "Just rest for now." She grabbed Miru by the arm before he could escape. "It's time for your bed!"

"No!" he screamed. "I want to stay up with Daddy!"

"Daddy wants you to go to sleep. You don't want him to worry about you, do you?" Medea asked rhetorically. He looked extremely put out. She did not encounter any further resistance as she got him into his nightclothes and tucked him in his bed in the adjacent room. After making sure that Miru fell asleep and was not faking it, she returned to the main room.

She stayed up throughout the night, tending the fire, checking on Phael's condition, and waking him up periodically to give him water. During the twilight of the following morning, she stole outside quickly to fetch some more water from the nearby stream. Returning to the house, she saw that Phael was attempting to sit upright. Some water sloshed onto the floor as she hurried to his side. "No! Phael, lie back! Don't strain yourself."

"Medea," he said softly, touching the side of her face gingerly as he allowed himself to be pushed down. "I'm glad I got to see your face again." He coughed, spitting up blood. "I don't think I have much longer…"

Sudden panic filled Medea's chest as it had the previous day. "No! Don't talk like that! Don't talk at all! Lie back and rest! You'll be fine! I'll take care of you! I won't let you die! _I swear_!"

"Don't make oaths you can't keep, my love," Phael whispered kindly. He smiled at her with more strength than before. "I just want you to get something for me." He pointed at the sack again.

Medea took a few steadying breaths to calm herself. She glanced at the benign looking sack apprehensively and then returned her gaze to her husband's eyes. She nodded and fetched the requested item. There was nothing out of the ordinary in it, but as she rummaged through it, she found a small toy.

It was a soldier figurine carved out of wood. "I made that for Miru," Phael informed her. "Please give it to him for me. Tell him that Daddy is very proud of him and loves him very much."

"You will give it to him," Medea responded. "You are not going to die, Phael! I won't let you!"

Phael grinned at his stubborn wife. "You are as lovely as ever. How I missed your passion. You have always been…" He started coughing again, unable to finish his sentence. He rested his head and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.

For a brief moment, Medea feared his soul had departed. She leaned in very close, feeling his faint breath upon her lips. She kissed him gently. Saline droplets fell onto Phael's face from her eyes, streaking down his hewn cheekbones as if they were his own.

"I won't let you die!" she whispered passionately. "I love you!"

* * *

A crumbling stone fortress rested on the flat side of an eroded mountain that faced the river that led out to sea. Long ago, it served as a sentinel to the valley of farms below, but now it was home to a vain and lonely sorceress. Bezzelba paced back and forth in her gloomy foyer. Dark clouds were fast approaching upon chilly, ominous winds. She could sense a change in the atmosphere, and she cast a worried glance out the window. She dashed over to survey the countryside below. Teal eyes scanned the distant roads, and she discerned the shapes of General Phael's men. 

_He's home!_ She thought ecstatically. _He's home! I wonder if he missed me?_ She grinned broadly, thinking of how wonderful it would be to see Phael again. She was mad about him, and as a consequence – detested Medea. _I hope he realizes what a lousy wife she is after he's been away from her awhile! _She bit her bottom lip in doubt. Bezzelba just could not see what Medea had that she did not, and it irked her to no end.

Bezzelba was a sorceress, and she was the one whom the townspeople and farmers alike would call upon for aid. She could help their crops grow as well as cure the sick. As she spotted a hooded figure running along the lane towards her domain, she mused, _Here comes someone now! _She checked herself in her reflection glass, smoothing her long, dark blonde tresses before approaching the front door. It banged open before she could scarcely reach it.

Medea stood hunched over, gasping for breath. The hood of her cape had fallen, and her red hair stuck out at odd angles. "I… need…" she panted, "your… help. Phael…"

Bezzelba's annoyance vaporized into instant worry. "What's happened to Phael?" she demanded. "What did you do?"

"He's ill," Medea answered, regaining her breath. Her silver grey eyes filled with tears. "I tried the best I could, but I don't have your powers. I need you to cure him."

"Of course I can do that!" Bezzelba's teal eyes flashed angrily as she smirked. "You came to the right woman. Did you run all the way here? It sounds serious."

Medea nodded. "His men told me that the sword that wounded him must have been tainted. The gash was not deep enough to be fatal." Medea proceeded to list her husband's symptoms - each sounded worse when spoken aloud.

Bezzelba's expression deepened. She knew what sort of illness it was, and she knew that the progression was slow and painful. It would lead to death if not treated. She made a mental check of her inventory in her head. _Yes, I have all the ingredients I need for that potion_, she realized. _I could save him. He'd be cured in a few days time._ She pulled her focus to Medea, who was watching her like a hawk for any clues. Bezzelba bit her lip again. _I've got to get rid of her!_

Then a fully developed plan rolled into her mind like thunder. She tried her best to smile at her proclaimed enemy. _Phael will be mine!_ she thought triumphantly. _This is the opportunity I've been waiting for!_

"Can you save him?" Medea inquired impatiently. She looked as if she were ready to collapse from worry.

"Yes, if I had this one particular ingredient," Bezzelba lied. "It's extremely expensive! This old, grouchy warlock I know has it in his stores, but he adamantly refuses to trade it for anything less than royal Egyptian treasure. He's the only one I know who has it, and he's impossible to persuade otherwise. He won't just give it away." She shrugged as if it were hopeless. "If you could acquire some Egyptian treasure, then perhaps there would be a chance…" She let her voice trail off helplessly.

"I'll get it!" Medea stated confidently. "I will go to Egypt and get some! If that's what it takes, I'll do it! I won't let my husband die!"

"Are you serious?" Bezzelba asked in disbelief. "It's a long way to Egypt! You'll be gone a long time. Are you sure it's worth it?"

"My husband is my heart," Medea replied matter-of-factly. "I would die without him. I'll try to be as quick as I can. Can you keep him well until I return?"

"I'll see what I can do," Bezzelba said sweetly. "You go to Egypt and loot for treasure."

"Loot?" Medea repeated, confused. "Can't I just buy some?"

Teal eyes widened in shocked amusement. She tossed back her head and laughed. "You don't have the money, dear! There is no way you could afford _royal_ Egyptian treasure! They'll catch you and behead you for sure! Are you sure you can do it?"

Medea straightened herself to her tallest height. Her bottom lip trembled slightly, her nostrils flared, and her steely eyes flashed passionately. "I will save my husband!" she affirmed forcefully. "Come and stay at my house and care for my son. Wait for my return." And she departed with a turn of a heel, running at breakneck speed back to her home to prepare for her long journey.

"That was interesting," an eerily soothing voice said behind the sorceress. Bezzelba spun around to face Dartz. "What are you conspiring, my dear?"

"It's none of your business, my lord," Bezzelba returned defensively. "I have my ambitions - same as you do."

"Do you intend to save Phael?" Dartz asked. He strode over to her with his turquoise hair fluttering behind him. She turned her face away as he tried to stroke her cheek. His eyes narrowed. "Do you love Medea's husband?"

"I'm only your apprentice, my lord. I can love whomever I wish," she said with a shaking voice. "I'll cure him while she's away. He'll fall in love with me and leave her in the dust!" Her head snapped back to the king of Atlantis. "I only wish I knew who tried to kill him! I would melt the flesh off his bones with acid!"

"If you say so," Dartz replied carelessly.

* * *

Medea clutched the toy soldier to her chest for comfort and strength. She had not yet given the toy to Miru to solidify her belief that Phael would recover to do that himself. The Nile Delta came into view over the horizon. She stood at the bow of the ship expectantly, trying to will it forward faster. In all her life, she had never had such a speedy journey. She was almost there, and it only took her a week and a half! _Hold on, Phael_, she urged. _I will save you!_

The long ship docked safely in less than an hour later. A ramp was let down, and Medea nearly fell over when she reached land. She had not eaten in several days. A passing Egyptian stopped to give her some encouragement. Medea smiled at the stranger and forced herself onwards. She ambled through the bazaar searching for food. With what little money she had left, she purchased a loaf of bread and a bagful of dried dates. She filled her water-skin at the community well. After resting and eating in some shade, she started to ask passing travelers if they knew where the Valley of the Kings was located.

Many people gave her weird looks, muttering about foreigners. A few even laughed and called her crazy. No one could see how desperate she was. Only one man had provided information that was useful. He had a rat-like face and shifty eyes. Medea felt uneasy, but she could tell that he was not lying to her at least. He gave her the directions and a few tips on how to get past the traps in the tombs. He stroked his goatee and mused about the heat while he talked. He gazed at the full length of her body without regard. "Such a waste – ample endowments such as yours!" Then he looked her square in the eyes and said, "You'll most likely be buried there along with the mummies!" He cracked up laughing and sauntered away.

Medea blinked. She thought that the traps in the tombs had been tall-tales. She had heard of such stories even in Gaul, but she had dismissed them as fantasy. _Is it really so hard to rob a little grave?_

* * *

Cool points to anyone who can name whom Bezzelba was named after! She's not based off anyone, but I got her name from (?). 

**Holly** in the language of flowers means good will, defense, domestic happiness, and foresight.

REVIEWS PLEASE!


	2. Lavender

October 1, 2006

Revised November 17, 2007

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Yugioh - Kazuki Takahashi does. I do own my OCs: Medea and Bezzelba. Don't use without my permission. You are free to flame any of my OCs in any of my fics! This does not mean flame me! So, if you hate Bezzelba, let me know!

The cool points go to **Sisco**, who got it right first.

I think this fic is going to be another pet favorite of mine. I sure hope it turns out as well as I envision it. Thank you everyone who reviewed! Although I haven't said it yet, I write Medea as from Dalmatia. I know the name doesn't come from there, but I chose it based on reasons stated in the beginning of the last chapter. I chose Dalmatia because it is closest to where I intend to write Amelda from in my upcoming fic, _Quinquepertitus_.

**Egyptian Requiem**

By _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Chapter 2: Lavender 

The rising sun felt like a warm breeze, bathing Medea in its warm glow. She shivered. Her bones ached from the freezing night of the desert. She had run out of water and food. She had no idea how she was going to make it back across the desert even if she could find buried treasure. She searched for an entrance to where a royal tomb was rumored to be located. Finally spotting the hidden entrance, she climbed in.

It was surprisingly smelly, but not of rotting flesh as Medea had expected. There was a sharp, dry odor of an untouched domain. The scent was unlike anything Medea had ever smelled before. It marked the difference of the world outside and the world entombed within hallowed walls. It urged her forward. She was so close she could almost taste it. She carried several spare torches strapped to her back along with her sword. She knew she would be down there long enough to need them. Medea only crept forward as soon as she had examined the surroundings for traps and had disabled them.

The monotonous stone walls revealed nothing except the hard work of many slaves. The passages were straight, and turned at right angles. There were choices - right, left, down, or up - at every single intersection in the tunnels. Usually, the one with the most traps was the right way, and so Medea soon found herself facing an enormous trap.

With wide eyes, a small gulp, she fingered the carved wooden toy she carried as a token of hope. "I can do this," she spoke aloud.

* * *

"I miss Mommy!" Miru screamed. "Bring Mommy back!" 

"Quiet, boy!" Bezzelba hissed. "You're going to wake your father." She gripped Miru by the arm tightly and dragged him kicking and screaming outside. "Get lost! Go play with your friends or something."

Miru stood outside, staring tear-stained face into the doorway. His expression was defiant. He stomped his little foot and proclaimed, "I don't want to play! I want to be with Daddy!"

"Your father would die without me!" Bezzelba gnashed vehemently at him. "Is that what you want, little boy! Do you want your daddy to die?"

Miru suddenly took off like a bird to flight. He ran around the side of the house, unbeknownst to Bezzelba, and sneaked into the bedroom through the window. The sorceress was satisfied that Miru had left. She had been waiting for an opportunity to speak to Phael alone, but with the lousy weather they had all week she had not been able to kick Miru out of earshot.

She settled herself by Phael's side. He was doing much better. He could stay conscious much longer, and his fever had subsided. She had not treated him fully. She was only keeping him alive so she could offer her proposition. She suspected that Medea might return any day even though it was unlikely anyone could return so soon. "Phael," she whispered kindly. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks," he answered gruffly. He avoided eye contact with her as always, which greatly offended her.

"Phael, see what I can do for you? I am able to cure you! Don't you think that I'm an admirable person?" she asked hopefully. "I help farmers with their crops, I cure their sick, and I offer potions to those seeking an alternative to pain and suffering."

"Only for a price," Phael added. He stared fixedly at the ceiling, thinking only of his wife.

"Well, how else do you expect me to make a living?" Bezzelba returned. "I can't do all this for free, you know!" She laughed humorously. "Phael, there is something important I want to talk to you about."

"Talk," Phael grunted.

"You know I love you," she began. "It still hurts me that you never returned my affections."

"No use talking about the past, Bezzelba," Phael sighed. "I thought you had something worthwhile to say."

"I do!" she said shrilly. "I just want to know _why_! Why did you chose that Dalmatian over me? She was nothing but a nomad… a vagrant! I had confessed my love to you and you left me without an answer. You had gone off to war and came home with that _stray_. I'm an elite sorceress, wealthy, powerful-"

"I could care less about that." Phael attempted to rest on his side in effort to turn away from her. "If you can't say anything meaningful, then be quiet, woman. Don't insult my wife."

"HOW COULD YOU CHOOSE HER OVER ME?" Bezzelba screamed at him.

Phael turned back over and for the first time in a week, looked her squarely in the eyes. "I love her. That is all you need to know."

The sorceress was quiet, sobbing silently to herself. Phael had resumed staring into space, avoiding her again. The wind howled outside, and Miru was glad he had snuck into the house. He crouched by the door connecting the bedroom to the main room, listening to their conversation.

"I think you just pitied her," Bezzelba said, disturbing the silence.

"Just when I think you can't say anything stupider, you keep talking," Phael commented dryly. "The one I pity is you, Bezzelba."

"The one you should pity is yourself!" she shot back. "You should pity your son! What is that little boy going to do without a father?"

"What are you talking about, woman?" he asked angrily. "I'm not going to die."

She gave him a satisfied smile that did not bode well with the warrior. "You will die, Phael," she said in just above a whisper. "I told you I had something meaningful to say, didn't I?"

* * *

Medea faced a huge cavern, ancient relic of days when water was more abundant in the valley. There was a natural bridge to cross, and Medea hesitated. She could not see how there could be traps here, much less how to spring them. Her face set in determination, she ran across the bridge, forcing herself to not look down into the abyss. 

Something large suddenly loomed in front of her, blocking her vision. It was hard to stop so quickly in her speed, and her foot twisted painfully, causing her to slide right between the creature's legs. Ankle throbbing, she stood up to face the creature's backside, her sword in hand. Large, scaly, and winged - it could only be a dragon. Medea's heart thundered against her ribs, adrenaline flooded her veins. She moaned softly, staring at the enormous creature she feared above all others.

The white dragon turned on the spot to stare at her, blue eyes fixed, scrutinizing the sword. It did not attack. Its stance was that of defense, not offense, and Medea's fears ebbed away slightly to allow logic to function in her brain once more. "I'm not here to hurt you," she said as sternly as she could. "I'm only here to save my husband!"

The dragon did not speak, but through empathic communication, Medea understood that she had to sacrifice her sword. Otherwise, the dragon guardian would not allow her to go on any further. The dragon knew that Medea's intentions were not of greed, which was the only reason she had been spared thus far. Medea sighed, and laid down the sword at the dragon's feet. With one careless flick of the foot, the dragon had knocked the sword over the edge into the depths below.

* * *

"If you leave Medea and marry me, I'll cure you," Bezzelba said slowly. "If you refuse, I simply won't treat you." 

"You lied to Medea, didn't you?" Phael growled. Bezzelba was thoroughly enjoying the attention she received. Her smile infuriated Phael even further. He was still too sick to move, otherwise he would have strangled her. "You sent her away on some forsaken mission to get rid of her."

"Yeah," she replied contentedly. "Even if she survives – which is unlikely – she will have to live with the knowledge that she is the reason you died."

"You are the reason!" Phael yelled constrainedly. He erupted into a fit of coughing, immobilizing him further.

"She won't know that," Bezzelba whispered sickly-sweet. "I'll just tell her that since she didn't come home in time…"

Miru leapt onto Bezzelba from behind, screaming incoherently. He pulled chunks of her hair out and clawed at her back. She smacked him so hard she fractured his cheekbone. Miru flew across the room from the impact. "Stay out of this, disgusting wart!" she screamed at him. The three-year-old slumped into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably.

Bezzelba straightened herself, looming over Phael. "Leave that vagrant whore you call a wife, marry me, and I will cure you. I'll even let you keep your son!" She flashed him another disturbing smile. "If you don't, Phael, I can't treat you. If I don't treat you – you will die slowly and painfully. So, what's it going to be?"

Tears brimmed his sky-blue eyes as his face solidified into stone. With firm resolution, Phael answered, "I would rather die trusting my beloved wife than save myself by betraying her! I especially will never leave her for a pathetic excuse of a woman like you!"

* * *

Medea walked on her injured ankle for what seemed like an eternity. She moved even slower than before, her breaths ragged. She did not bemoan the loss of her sword. It had belonged to her father, and he had died when she was very young. He called it the Sword of Peace. Medea had never used it before in her life, except once to behead an old sow when she couldn't find her butcher's knife. Medea could care less about any of that; now, she only cared about saving her husband. 

Reaching a new black corridor, she could smell oil. Her fingers felt out the wall beside her in the darkness, finding what she suspected. Using her torch to light the oil, the trough that ran along the wall light the corridor brightly, torches in brackets further down ignited, and a path illuminated to reveal beautiful paintings along the way, illustrating history immortalized. "This is it!" she cried and ran down towards the tomb filled with gold treasure.

Such was her excitement, she noticed not the small alcove that housed a messenger bird, which woke in alarm and zoomed up the very tall, narrow chimney into the sky above.

* * *

Dartz stood in Bezzelba's palace, surveying the countryside below. He could see on the horizon the little house that belonged to Phael and his family. The sun broke free of the clouds, and people were out in the sunshine, working to make up for the time they had lost during the storm. Dartz surveyed them all, each soul that toiled to etch out an existence. 

The king mused to himself about the pathetic lives of the villagers, about his mission, and his ever growing soul collection. He muddled over the words Bezzelba had told him when they first met. He had asked her for a prophecy, laughing to himself that she was a joke. He did not believe Bezzelba had any powers and only made the request to prove it. He had been the one who had been handed his shocked face on a silver platter for the first time in seven thousand years.

Bezzelba's prophecy told the coming of the chosen ones, during the year of his 10,000th birthday. They would have the power to awake the three dragons from their slumber and use their powers to overthrow Dartz's reign. Dartz was not just a king of Atlantis now; he was king of the world! He could not let anything stop his plans to revive the Great Beast!!! Plans were set in motion that could not be undone.

Dartz had identified two of the three chosen ones that were spoken of in the prophecy. It irked him to no end that he could not find the third, who was destined to wield the Claw of Hermos! He found the souls belonging to the first two, and he decided that he could keep tabs on them until the third appeared. It was his destiny to thwart them. For now, he needed the second one to stay alive. He knew of the death of the first, but that did not bother him. Dartz was familiar with souls being reincarnated, after living for so long.

Now he had a plan set in motion to do just that. He knew of Bezzelba's lust for Phael, and he knew that she would condemn Medea if she could. He could use Phael's wife as a tool. She was a powerful soul herself, just like her husband had been, and he decided that they both would come in handy in the future. For now, he could use her to get close to the second chosen one, and through the power of the magic stones he controlled, he could watch _everything._

* * *

"Look at what we have here!" one guard said to his companion. "A pretty little thing, isn't she?" He pulled Medea by her long hair. Sand swam into her clothes and scraped her skin. She did not utter a whimper nor shed a tear. Such defiance only turned on the soldiers, who had nothing better to do than to guard the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings. 

"I like her," the other said huskily. "I wonder how much I could get for her hair. Such a pretty red…"

"Forget the hair!" the first replied. He squeezed her right tit. "This is god-sent! I just want one night with her! She'll never break a law again!"

"Aren't we supposed to behead her?" the second asked his companion. "We could take her to the palace – throw her into the dungeon. I bet she would not be able to face the fury of the new Pharaoh! Robbing tombs… Who does she think she is? Bakura?"

"Don't speak that name!" the captain hissed. He rode atop a horse that was growing restless in the spooky night. "It hasn't even been a year since that monster laid our beloved homeland to waste! He killed nearly all the High Priests! Not to mention hundreds of innocent lives!"

"What should we do with her?" the first guard asked his superior.

The captain gazed down at Medea coldly for a moment, considering her. "I hate foreigners more than locusts. Take her to the palace. Make an example of her!"

They threw Medea into the back of a wagon and instructed the driver to take the cargo directly to the palace. Medea tried to free herself of her restraints, but the ropes would not yield. She was bleeding heavily from her forehead where the first guard had hit her with the blunt side of his sword. Dehydration was causing her to hallucinate, and she could see winged lions inside the cart with her. She screamed for help, but the driver ignored her.

Medea woke up in a cold, dark, damp cell. She could not remember how she had gotten there or when she had passed out. _It must have been when the sphinx jumped at me_, she thought – convinced her hallucinations had been real. She spied a bucket of water and an empty bucket next to it. She drank most of the water, accidentally sloshing a little down her front. Grateful that she had her fill, she started to examine her enclosure. The floor was well laid stonework. She could not fit even a fingernail in between the tiles. The walls were just like the floor. Medea searched frantically for a loose stone to no avail. She tried the bars next. There was no way to cut through them with the instruments she had: two buckets and herself.

She sat in her cell, resting for a little bit. She sighed over the loss of her possessions, which included the wooden toy soldier her husband had carved for their son. She banged her head against the wall when she thought of her father's sword. She had not managed to even grab one single piece of treasure before the guards had caught her, but she did make it into the treasure room. _Is this the best I can do?_ she wondered with a heavy heart. _I'm so sorry, Phael! I tried! _For the first time in over a week, she let all her inhibitions go. She could not be strong any longer. Clutching her aching heart, she lamented.

* * *

The doors banged off the walls as Bezzelba entered the viewing room. "Why the hell have you summoned me?" Bezzelba snapped as a way of greeting. She stood there, the doors closing themselves shut by their own momentum behind her, glaring at her boss. 

Dartz turned towards her and smiled. "You are up to something, my dear, and you've yet to inform me of your plans."

"I don't have to tell you nothing!" She folded her arms across her chest, resting her weight on one leg and tapped her foot with the other.

_The dreaded nagging wife pose_, Dartz mused. _It's funny that she uses that with me..._ He cleared his throat and fixed his unnerving mixed-matched eyes on her. The effect worked. Her foot stopped in mid-tap. "I'm your lord, mentor, and king. You willingly handed your services over to me in exchange for apprenticeship. You've seen a small sample of my powers. Perhaps, soon, I'll show you how much you can accomplish with the Seal of Orichalcos."

His plan worked. Bezzelba was hanging onto every word. Her posture changed to something more submissive, and she smiled coyly. "What do I have to do to gain your trust, my lord?"

"Tell me everything."

* * *

_Just a little more…_ Medea urged. She wedged the rusty nail deeper into the lock, feeling for a grab. Beside her lay the remnants of the bucket. She had noticed after she had finished crying out her soul that the handle was held in place by a nail. She had smashed the bucket, confident that no one would hear the noise. No one had bothered to come and harass her while she had cried. No one came to stop her now. 

With her tongue between her teeth, she worked the lock until she finally heard that blessed _click_. It sprung open, and Medea freed herself. She ran like the wind up the long, winding stairs. She paused at all the right places, checking for guards, and slipped past them all. She had made it into some region of the palace that looked quiet. There were no torches lit, and she could see moonlight streaming in through the window. It was luminous enough to light the entire large room. She wondered if this was someplace where celebrations were held. She spotted a door leading to the outside across the way. The smell of fresh water-lilies stung her nostrils, their sickly sweet scent goading her to make a dash for it.

She glanced around the room for any witnesses. Without a further moment of hesitation, she streaked across the room. Her heart stopped as a silhouette stood framed in the doorway. He did not appear to be a guard. She could not see a sword or armor. She froze like a trapped animal, readying herself for attack.

The stranger was silent. She knew he must have seen her. She stood in the middle of the large expanse, illuminated by the bright moonlight. He walked towards her slowly without saying a word. His hands were clasped behind his back. He stepped lightly, but each stride spoke volumes of confidence – complete lack of fear. As he entered her patch of moonlight, Medea gasped.

She could have easily attacked him. He was defenseless with nothing but neatly pleated linen strapped around his waist. The only other things he wore were a golden, upside-down pyramid around his neck and a bejeweled uraeus upon his brunette locks. Even the sovereign crown did not halt Medea in her actions the way his eyes did. They were colder than ice, and she felt a powerful chill emanating from him. He did not even have to touch her. She could not move.

Such was the command of his mere presence. The Pharaoh of Egypt surveyed this stranger in his palace with an indiscernible expression. Medea felt she had aged in just a few moments. The air was beginning to stifle her, and her beating heart drummed in her chest loud as a war drum. She thought of Phael and suddenly fell to her knees. Her blood red hair splayed upon the floor beside her as she prostrated herself.

"Please forgive me, Your Highness," she pleaded in a soft voice. "I'm only trying to save my husband's life."

* * *

Bwa ha ha ha! A cliffhanger! Yes, that is Seto. His coronation name is Seti, so I'll be refering to him by that name in this fic. 

**Lavender** in the language of flowers means devotion.


	3. Black Rose

October 12, 2006

Revised November 17, 2007

**Egyptian Requiem**

By _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Chapter 3: Black Rose

A small, dark brown lizard scampered across the stone courtyard. He could smell water-lilies in the pond next to him. Mist began its decent to the ground, causing an ominous pall upon the living creatures. The lizard ran to a gigantic wall, huddled in a shadow, and then walked along the stone wall until he reached an opening. He peered around inside the doorway and saw two human beings. Deciding that entering the domain of humans was asking for trouble, he continued on his nightly rounds.

Inside the two people were still frozen in an uncomfortable silence. Pharaoh Seti had yet to say a word. He had listened to Medea's story without interruption. She had told him all about her husband and his condition, her three-year-old son, and about Bezzelba. She confessed the attempted grave-robbery and explained about the warlock whom Bezzelba had mentioned.

At this point, Seti finally spoke. "I don't believe you," he said softly.

Instantly enraged, Medea stood up to her fullest height, which nearly matched his. "My husband is _dying_! How can you not _believe_ me?"

There was a fleeting spasm of surprise that flitted across his features, but he regained his cool composure faster than lightning. The foreign woman's attitude was appalling to his senses, but he reasoned with himself that she did not understand her place. He elaborated, "Either you are lying, or you are naïve." He paused to let this register. "Bezzelba must have lied to you. That part about the warlock is senseless. For the potion to cure your husband there are no rare ingredients. I could even do it myself."

The confusion, which had replaced her flash anger, had now been replaced by eagerness. "Would you?" she implored. "Please?" Her silver eyes expanded, pleading with him.

The Pharaoh was slightly taken aback even if it did not show. He could not help himself - it was a simple matter for him, and there was a child involved. With a half snarl, half sigh, he said, "Follow me. If the guards catch you by yourself you'll be executed on the spot." He strode off in the direction Medea had come. She followed at his side. They had barely walked a 100 meters before he stopped dead and faced her. "You aren't used to being put in your place, are you?"

"My place?" she inquired, puzzled. She did not understand that her husband was much more lenient with her than the average husband. Phael had never for even a moment made her feel inferior.

Seti studied her for a moment, concluding that Medea was like Mana – spoiled by the men around her. He continued to walk without comment. She could not explain to herself why, but she trusted him. She had noticed that when she had mentioned her son, his chilly aura had disappeared. The silence between them was no longer uncomfortable, and she vaguely wondered if he was really the Pharaoh. He had not formally introduced himself yet.

Seti did not lead her back into the dungeons, but they were descending to deeper levels of the palace. Warm, entrapped air raised the hairs on Medea's cold arm. She glanced at guards and servants as they passed, wondering if any of them had recognized her. There were a few curious looks but nothing alarming. Seti stared straight ahead, not concerning himself with Medea's anxiety. He knew that the guards would not dare say anything that would sound remotely like questioning his judgment.

He had led her right into an apothecary. He instructed her to sit at a table, watch, and stay out of the way. Seti made a mental note to remind Mana not to leave messes in the apothecary as he surveyed the cluttered table and shelves. Medea sat quietly, observing his every move. He suspected that she was trying to learn how to make the potion.

Seti was beginning to feel that perhaps he had misjudged her, mistaking her silence for obedience. But then Medea spoke, "Are you a sorcerer?"

His indiscernible gaze rested upon her as he paused in his work. "No. Before my coronation as Pharaoh, I was High Priest," he informed cryptically. "I was trained in the basics by another High Priest, who was a renowned magician."

Medea felt crushed upon learning that this was 'basic.' She also felt that she should be more grateful to receive personal aid from a pharaoh. _The gods must be watching over me_, she thought. _I hope that they are watching over Phael, too_.

* * *

Miru ran down the grassy slope of the bank with a water jug in hand. He slid to a stop at the river's edge and carefully filled the jug full of water. He could hear voices floating down the wind. He recognized Bezzelba's, but he could not recognize the male voice accompanying hers. 

An autumn breeze ruffled his clay red hair, and his sparkling eyes were beginning to lose their shine. Hope was dripping away faster than the flowing stream. He thought of his father, and how the illness had taken a turn for the worse. He ran back to the house with the water jug and left it by his father's side.

Phael had slipped into a coma. His face was pale, and his body was covered in dark, purplish splotches. His breathing was ragged, his fever potent, and his heartbeat faint. Miru whispered, "Hold on, Daddy. Mommy will be home soon!" He glanced at the door, fearing that the horrible witch might return any moment. Miru ran back out of the house, where he heard her voice floating on the wind. He was curious to see to whom she was talking.

He ran across the grassy slope again and along the river. He reached a patch of trees and slowed. He could hear the voices distinctly now, and he did not wish to expose his presence. He peered around a trunk of a large tree and saw Bezzelba conversing with a strange man with long, turquoise colored hair.

"If you are interested in revenge, my dear," Dartz said, "I know of a way that would benefit the both of us."

"Really?" Bezzelba returned. Her voice conveyed her disbelief and mistrust. "I'm tired of you telling me what to do."

"Don't forget you work for me," Dartz replied, his voice carrying the trace of a threat. He stepped into her personal space, fingering her long, dark blonde hair. "I would hate to lose a loyal servant like yourself."

She shook silently. "Just tell me and get it over with," she snapped. She yanked her hair away as he tried to smell it. "Phael has chosen death over me! I want his family to pay for his cruelty!"

"And I want their souls," Dartz said in a low voice. "You know I collect them. I have a power which will enable you to trap their souls and give them to me."

Bezzelba's teal eyes flashed excitedly. "Are you finally going to lend me your power, my lord?" she asked eagerly. "I've been waiting for so long!"

"It's complicated, dear," Dartz explained. "The stone of the Orichalcos can be utilized by many different means. I find it easiest to use the modern methods. I adopt the power to whatever utility that the ever changing technology provides." He stopped for a moment to gaze into space thoughtfully. Bezzelba waited with baited breath. He indulged her with one of his classic smiles. "You are a sorceress. Use the Orichalcos in your magic."

She held out her hand, and in it he placed a glowing green stone. "Wow!" she breathed ecstatically. "Can I really trap that wart's and that whore's souls with this?"

"Yes," he said softly. "It will take a complicated, two-part spell to make it work. However, because it is a spell, there will always be an antithesis to break it. So, it will be your responsibility to ensure that does not come to pass."

"What is the spell?" Bezzelba asked immediately. "I want to learn it right away!"

His smile widened. "Walk with me back to your castle. I'll summarize the method on our way and give you the procedures there. You need to curse the son first. A complicated silencing spell is needed…"

They continued to walk further away from Miru's hiding spot and out of earshot. He dared not to follow. It would have meant exposing himself in an open area where there were no trees or bushes to hide him. He just had to keep in mind to not so much as take a sip of anything Bezzelba offered him.

Miru ran back to his father's side and began to pray for his mother's return.

* * *

An impressive, sleek boat waited at anchor. It was large enough for a battalion of soldiers to cross the Mediterranean with ample supply of food and room to spare. Currently, it was being utilized for trade in the foreign lands below Lower Egypt. The Pharaoh Seti commissioned this military vessel – the best in their small fleet – to acquire as much building materials from Greece, Gaul, and other foreign nations. Egypt's stone quarries had been nearly exhausted in building the last of the Great Pyramids, and they had little to recycle into new homes. The people of Egypt needed homes, and they needed it fast. Even though it took a few days, it was still faster to collect wood and bring it to the Nile than it was to cut new stones out of the nearly empty quarry. (A/N) 

Medea stepped out into the chilly morning. The sun was about to rise, and she could see a golden thread hugging the horizon. She surveyed the flat land and its many dwellings, and she had a small wish to stay and explore. _Perhaps I'll come back here someday_, she told herself. _It's enchanting_.

Annoyed that Medea was not following him, Seti walked back, grabbed her shoulders, and steered her towards the boat. "This way," he informed.

Medea smiled to herself. She could hear a subtle undercurrent of amusement in his voice. She saw the ship, and was immediately impressed. "Y-y-you're letting m-me use your sh-ship?" she stammered. A warm surge of gratitude welled inside her. "Thank you!"

He shrugged as if it were nothing. "You're just lucky it happens to be going in your direction. I need to purchase sturdy building materials from your country. A quarter of my people still need shelters," he informed. "It used to be the pride of our navy."

"It's very formidable," Medea exaggerated. She was impressed, but she knew that Egypt did not have the strongest navy. She was just grateful to be able to go home and cure Phael herself. She knew that a little compliment for the Pharaoh was in good taste. "I'll be honored to sail with her."

"Here," Seti handed her a small bag. "You only need to put this in boiling water and stir well. Make him drink it _immediately_. Otherwise, it loses its potency, which is why I put it into powder form for you."

"Thank you," Medea whispered. She put it into the sack of food Seti had provided for her. "Thank you for everything, Pharaoh." She smiled and turned away.

"Before you go, I have one last thing to say to you," he said sharply. She turned back to him with rapt attention. "It was reported to me that the tomb you attempted to rob was Aknadin's. If you ever have need to seek aid from the dead, seek elsewhere next time."

She blinked in confusion. For a moment there she had feared the worst. "Why do you say that?" she inquired curiously.

"He cannot be trusted even when dead."

"You knew him?"

"Yes." Seti neglected to elaborate further. "Also, don't ever come back to Egypt. I abhor grave robbers, but others will not be as forgiving as I am."

A sharp pain stung the corners of Medea's eyes as she forced herself not to cry. She nodded to show that she understood and bade him farewell. When she had boarded the boat, she noticed that he had already left. She said a prayer of thanks to the gods she worshiped and eagerly anticipated her return home.

* * *

Miru clutched his throat and stumbled to the floor. It felt as if fire were burning him inside out. The pain was insufferable, and he could not keep himself from crying. _Am I going to burn alive?_ he wondered. Tears rained upon the floor as he struggled to stay conscious. 

Bezzelba loomed over him; her hand outstretched above while she finished chanting. A stone in a newly fashioned ring glowed ominously when she had completed her spell. "Now you will never talk again!" she leered. "I'm going to tell you everything because it will be that much more fun to watch you in your anguish. You will be unable to inform your vagrant of a mother anything! When she gives birth to another son, the spell I placed upon you will break. But, I'll see to it _that_ will never happen!" She laughed maniacally. She glanced at Phael's silent form behind Miru. "And to think… all he had to do was marry me. You have no one to blame but your father, little wart!"

The burning pain subsided, and Miru stood up shakily on his feet. He glared at the sorceress defiantly. He could not speak anymore, but his face portrayed his hatred towards the witch and also the hope he placed in his mother.

She sneered at him. "Perhaps I'll torture you with more spells later, but I think I will wait until your mother returns. That is… _if_ she returns."

The wind howled outside, and it was impossible to tell if night had fallen already. Bezzelba stopped laughing to give the foul weather a scowl. "Looks like I won't be walking home," she mused. She pulled out a small pouch of powder, dipped her fingers in it, and snapped them. She vanished in a puff of smoke. Miru blinked. He hoped she had somehow made a mistake and transported herself so far away she would be lost. He hung his head and cried. He knew that nothing in his life was ever going to be the same again.

Miru stirred himself slowly out of his lethargic misery. He shivered in the cold, put the last of the wood in the dying fire, and fell asleep next to it. He woke up to find his mother sobbing over his father.

* * *

_Moments Prior _

_Damn this gale!_ Medea cursed. She struggled in the torrent of rain, the wind blowing sheets of stinging droplets into her face. Several times she had been blown over and landed in mud. She was wet, cold, muddied, and in pain, but all she could feel was a burning desire to see her husband and son again. She pressed forward, her eyes barely making out the house in which she lived. _Phael! I'm home!_

When she opened the door, the wind tore it from her grasp and smacked it against the side of the house. A crack formed in the center, but it remained intact. She struggled to close it and collapsed onto the floor. Now secure from the wind, she tore off her outer layers and travel bag and ran to Phael's side. "I have it! I have the cure!" she cried. She ran back to her bag to fetch the powder. She put a pot of water on the fireplace to boil, and she returned to her husband's side. "Phael, wake up," she urged gently. "I'm home! I've missed you so much, my love!"

His eyes remained closed and there was no response. Medea stopped shaking him to check his pulse. She could not find it. She pressed her ear to his chest to find a heartbeat, but it was not there. "No!" she cried shrilly. "NO!" She slammed her fist on his chest. "NO! You cannot die! I'm going to save you! I promised you I would! I have the cure, my love! Don't die!"

She threw herself on him, wailing inconsolably. Miru trembled as he walked over to her, putting a small hand in the space between her shoulder blades. He did not know how to tell his mother that Daddy had been dead for several days.

* * *

_"Medea," Phael whispered. "You know that I will always love you. I will always protect you."_

_The coy redhead smiled at her fiancée. "You know I don't need protection, my love. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm marrying you so we can grow old together." She kissed him suggestively while running her hand along his muscled abdomen. _

_"You always know what you want, don't you?" he said, smiling at her. He moved on top of her while still trying to stay covered by the bed sheets. He kissed her neck, causing her to moan. His large, strong hands caressed her body, making her feel loved and secure. "I can't wait to make you my wife," he whispered huskily._

_Medea smirked. "Would you have chosen anyone else?" she teased. "It's a good thing you found me. I don't know what would have become of me if you hadn't. I love you, Phael."_

Medea awoke drenched in sweat. She could not figure how long she had been crying or when she had fallen asleep. She straightened her back to gaze at her dead husband fondly. Memories of their lives together flooded her mind. She could not stop crying. She heard sniffles beside her and noticed her son for the first time since she had arrived home. He sat down next to her, and his eyes were full of expression. Neither one spoke. Tenderly, she reached out to him, and he threw himself into her arms.

Medea held Miru tight. She closed her eyes and rocked him gently. "Don't say a word," she whispered. "I promise you that I won't fail you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Lower Egypt is Northern Egypt. The Ancient Egyptians saw North as down and South as up. So, their geography is oriented upside-down compared to ours. Usually, the building materials were stone and papyrus. However, papyrus burns, and stone is limited. Often, old walls, temples, and other stone constructions were torn down and recycled to make new houses, but this takes time. It is faster to get wood if you have a fast ship. This did happen on rare occasion.

**Black Rose** in the language of flowers means death.


	4. Aloe

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, just the OCs Bezzelba and Medea.

October 13, 2006

Revised November 17, 2007

**Egyptian Requiem**

By _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Chapter 4: Aloe  


The next day the gods blessed Medea with fair weather. A funeral pyre was held in the evening for the mourning family, friends, and neighbors. Many of Phael's comrades offered their sympathies and sung songs of his heroics. Other widowed wives brought food for Medea and Miru, and fellow farmers offered firewood to help them survive the winter.

As Medea watched her beloved husband's body burn, she fought her impulse to run in and join him by holding Miru's hand. Her son had not spoken a word to her, and she sympathized with him. She could barely speak herself. The emptiness and guilt she felt pained her to the bones. Even with a raging fire before her, she was cold.

Days blended into weeks. Medea moved like an automaton. She cooked and cleaned while unconscious of her actions. She still prepared meals for Phael, knitted him blankets, and laundered his clothes. She kept all his things neat and tidy. She had convinced herself that he was just gone to war. _He'll return home any day now_, she thought.

The fact that he was gone forever had not registered yet. The house felt empty and cold without him. Several days after the funeral, Medea had remembered she was supposed to have given Miru the toy Phael had made. She kicked herself mentally for losing Miru's last present from his father. She began to hate herself.

The grasses of the riverbank swayed uneasily. Wildflowers had died, and the brown leaves had all fallen. Medea watched Miru running around on the slopes of the bank as she washed their clothes in the freezing cold river. Her feet and hands were as numb as herself. Even her son's attempts to try and catch a bird could barely make her smile.

"Still washing his clothes?" an icy voice said behind her.

Medea turned around slowly to face the sorceress. They had not spoken to each other since the funeral. "I can't let his clothes get dirty," she said flatly. "You would not understand, Bezzelba."

"It's too bad you didn't come home in time," Bezzelba said coldly. "Phael could have lived. I would have been able to save him. It's useless to wash a dead man's clothes, Medea. You won't be able to wash away the blood from your hands." Medea began to shake with guilt and rage. But before she could respond, Miru had bitten Bezzelba's leg. She howled in pain and jumped on the spot.

"Miru! No!" Medea ran forward to help Bezzelba. She slapped her son and told him to go inside. He looked at her, trying to communicate with his eyes that Bezzelba was at fault. "Go inside!" Medea ordered. He ran back to the house, crying silently.

She turned to the sorceress. "I'm sorry about this," she said in a hollow voice. "I know it's not your fault that Phael died. Miru is going through a lot of grief and suffering. He doesn't know how to handle it. Please forgive him."

"You're right," the sorceress replied, her teal eyes iced over. "It's _your_ fault he's dead."

Medea felt as if the hand of a god had just smacked her. Her entire body was in shock, but the core of her being was aching from a stabbing guilt. "I know I'm at fault," she whispered in a weak voice. "But my son isn't! Please forgive him."

"Fine," Bezzelba hissed. _I'll show your son who has the power!_ She strode off to the house. She came out about ten minutes later and walked passed Medea without a comment. The redhead watched her until she was out of sight. She picked up the clean laundry, piled it inside a large basket, and carried it into the house. She found that Miru had cried himself to sleep. She had no idea of the pain that Bezzelba had inflicted upon him, for there were no marks on his body. Had Medea any clue that Bezzelba had been molesting poor Miru all along while Medea was away, the redhead's rage would burn brighter than the sun!

Several hours later while she cooked, Miru woke up and launched himself at his mother. His little hands clung to her clothes, dragging her down to his level. He opened his mouth and bellowed silently, tears streaming down his face. It was obvious that if he had a voice, he would have been screaming at her. His mother was instantly alarmed when it occurred to her that he was not silent out of grief. He could not speak!

"Miru!" she cried helplessly. "What happened? Who did this to you?" She grew angry, instinctively suspecting the sorceress. Flames spiraled in her mind, clouding out reason. "Was it Bezzelba?"

He nodded.

* * *

The sun tinged the horizon with its coming glory. The sky lightened, and a swift breeze washed over the Pharaoh as he stood on the balcony. His eyes reflected the twilight blue, lost in deep thought. A man stood behind him, waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Seti was not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment. 

Losing his nerve, the man spoke, "My pharaoh, I beg of your audience."

Seti closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts painfully away from the horizon. "What is it?" he asked coldly.

"The ship has returned from her journey. She holds plentiful building materials in her hull. The court is awaiting your presence for today's counsel. A scout has reported a band of brigands in Upper Egypt, near the cataracts. We suspect that the Nubians are trying to start an uprising. And…" He stopped, choking on his words.

"And _what_?" Seti inquired, a bite in his voice. He turned around to face the messenger. "Is it Mana?"

"Uh, yes," he replied reluctantly. "She wants to speak to you after morning prayers."

"Keep her away from the temple," Seti instructed. "I'm not interested in anything she has to say."

"Yes, sir," he replied, even though he doubted that he could stand up to the magician.

The messenger left to attend to his errands. The Pharaoh turned back around to face the risen sun. The sky was the clear blue that usually graced the people of the Nile, and the weather promised another hot day. The rainy season had passed, the harvest was gathered, and now was a time for his people to celebrate the coming moons. He was glad that the ship's mission was successful. He hoped the woman's mission had been, too. The ship he sent back and forth to Gaul had made several return trips since he had put her on board.

Morning prayers were as peaceful as they usually were. The Pharaoh found himself calmed and invigorated by the rituals, and he could not understand what his predecessor had detested about them. The incense, the platters of fresh fruit, and the burnt leg of a bull wafted enticing smells to empty stomachs. A bushel of dried dates sat near the Pharaoh's knees, and a larger-than-life idol of gold stood majestically behind the altar of offerings. _The gods seem pleased today_, Seti thought. _I hope they favor us with peace_.

His good mood plummeted into dark annoyance when a familiar shining face popped into his vision as he left the temple. "Good morning, Seti!" Mana chimed. "Lovely day, isn't it? Hey, where are you going? Don't you want to listen to what your adviser has to say?"

"You appointed yourself my adviser, Mana," he replied cryptically. "So, I don't have to listen to you." He continued at a brisk pace to his ride. The men did not have to wait long before his chair had been hoisted onto their shoulders. Mana caught up with them moments later and jumped on.

"Since we are going back to the palace, let's go together!" she exclaimed. "Listen, what I have to say is important."

"I doubt it," Seti responded. He leaned back, resigned for her unsolicted advice anyways.

"It's about the harem," Mana elaborated without cue. "You were supposed to inherit the former Pharaoh's harem, but unfortunately…"

"They all died from Bakura's attack last year," Seti finished for her. "Mana, I'm well aware of this."

"Well, when are you going to build a new one?" she asked impatiently.

"And this is a priority?" Seti responded rhetorically. He pierced her with a look of reason. "I thought you might have had something a little more meaningful to say than that!"

Mana was not deterred. "And since when is an heir to the throne _not_ important?" Her laughing blue eyes were steady as she mustered her most serious face. "You need to plan these things ahead of time! Babies don't grow out of the ground!"

"Are you planning for my premature death?" Seti murmured softly, breaking eye contact to watch citizens bow as he passed. "What makes you think I don't have the time to waste?"

Mana sighed, exasperated. "Seti, the rebuilding of Egypt is nearly complete! You have surpassed all expectations in this matter! Many of the officials thought it couldn't be done so quickly, but you have proven otherwise! We all want to see the future of Egypt secured. This is why you should consider taking a wife."

"Are you volunteering?" Seti inquired, smirking. He returned his gaze to observe her reaction. She blushed slightly as an eyebrow twitched in irritation. He laughed softly under his breath and then grew serious again. "I don't think you could find me anyone who is more worthy of being my wife than Kisara. So, forget about it!"

"What's the use in being your adviser if you won't listen to me?" Mana huffed, folding her arms. She turned her nose up and away from him in mockery.

"My sentiments exactly," Seti replied. "I'll take your resignation when we reach the palace."

She broke her feigned cold shoulder to turn bulbous, watery eyes on him. "You don't really mean that, do you?" He grinned at her melodrama. "I'm the best magician you've got!"

"That doesn't qualify you for the position of Royal Adviser, Mana."

"But good advice is good advice!" Mana exclaimed, her face shining again. "You'll consider it! Won't you, Seti?"

"If something comes up, maybe…"

Mana smiled, accepting Seti's vague remark as an affirmation to go full speed ahead with her plans.

* * *

"I haven't experimented with Miru yet on how the Orichalcos enhances my spells. I haven't decided what would be the most painful." 

"Then what did you do, Bezzelba?" Dartz asked softly.

"Mmm," she murmured thoughtfully. "I had a little _fun_ with him…" Her face broke into a sinister smile. She looked quite devilish in the candlelight. Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling, causing an eerie atmosphere inside her stone fortress. She looked up at the shadowed ceiling. "It isn't anything you need to concern yourself with, my lord."

Dartz winced in disgust. He still had his virtues, and molesting children was not one of them. "You are still new to using the Orichalcos," Dartz stated. "You know that entrapping a soul requires a sort of trial. A person must win at something in order to save their soul."

"You mean like a duel?" the sorceress asked, puzzled.

"Not necessarily. I've used that method in the past, but that would risk the bearer of the Orichalcos' soul as well. A duel requires two participants," Dartz explained. "With magic, you are free of risk, but the method is trickier. You need to set a task or a trial for the one cursed, and you must state the antithesis as well."

"You told me this part already," Bezzelba snapped. "I told Miru how to break the Silencing Curse. He won't be able to tell-"

"Sshh!" Dartz hissed. He held a slender finger to his lips. His set of gold and turquoise eyes narrowed in suspicion. They scanned the shadowy corners where the licking firelight had not reached. It happened without warning.

Bezzelba screamed as a ghostly face shrouded in crimson flames and black shadows swooped down upon her. A flash of metal blinded her, and a loud clang of parried swords deafened her. She stumbled back to witness the fight. Medea had Phael's sword in hand, crossing blades with the King of Atlantis. Dartz had saved Bezzelba's life, but it had been close. Now Bezzelba understood her confusing vision.

Medea's face was as pale as the moon, twisted with rage. The flames had been her hair flowing wildly about with her rapid movements. The shadows had been her black traveling cloak. Medea said nothing coherent. Her screams and yells were filled with fury, and her grey eyes rivaled that of a storm. Dartz was quite taken aback, and began to wonder if he should start looking for a new servant. _Is saving Bezzelba's life worth this effort?_ he wondered. _She's pretty useless_.

"My lord!" Bezzelba cried helplessly.

Medea knocked him down and ran towards the sorceress, sword ready. Bezzelba shrieked and threw a magic fireball at her, causing her to dodge. Dartz reached her in that split second to block the enraged Dalmatian. The swords gnashed, sending small sparks in every direction. They both grimaced as feet were losing traction. "I'm not here to kill you!" Medea snarled. "Get out of the way!"

"I can't let you kill her," Dartz replied calmly. His disposition angered the redhead even further. "She may be useful yet, if she can only remember what I taught her!"

Medea yelled, "Then I'll just have to kill you, too!" She stepped back swung her sword for a crushing blow, but was stopped in mid-stance. Bezzelba stood four meters away with a triumphant gloat upon her face. Medea cursed loudly with such vulgarity that caused even _Dartz_ to blush slightly.

"I hit her with a freezing spell, my lord!" Bezzelba exclaimed. "Now I will curse her! Ha ha ha ha!"

"Wait!" The king cut her laughter short. "Do it as we planned!"

"How did you know I was going to change it?" Bezzelba shrieked incredulously. Her teal eyes rounded with surprise and mouth agape. "Are you a mind-reader?"

"I've lived too long," he answered. His superior smile returned to his nimble features. "Plus, you are _really_ predictable, my dear. If you don't do it as I said, then I will strip you of the Orichalcos and steal _your_ soul!"

"But… but…"

"No, just do as I say. Your way wouldn't be interesting." His sadistic smile widened. "A small, nearly impossible chance for her to win is much more fun than none at all."

Medea snarled. "Don't talk as if I'm not here!" She struggled to move to no avail. Her entire body was held in position by an invisible force. Adrenaline coursed through her arteries as she watched the dark blonde woman chanting a spell. The green stone in her ring glowed, and a matching green light encircled the frozen redhead. Medea's eyes widened in alarm as lines criss-crossed beneath her feet, joining together at the edges of the circle.

"Now, listen carefully, because otherwise you will lose your soul without a fighting chance," Bezzelba cackled. "You must pass a trial in order to save your soul. If you fail to win, you will lose. Understand? Your soul will belong to my master, Dartz."

"Tell me how to break the curse you placed on Miru!" Medea screamed. She was able to move again within the Seal of the Orichalcos, but she could not pass through the boundaries of the circle.

"No!" the sorceress laughed. "That wouldn't be any fun! He can tell you! Ha ha ha ha!" She stopped laughing, and her face darkened with hatred and jealousy. "You will need to marry…" She put her finger to her chin in mock thought.

"The Pharaoh of Egypt," Dartz finished for Bezzelba. "Remember?"

"Yes, I know!" she snapped. "I don't know why you insist on that!"

Dartz smirked, glad that Bezzelba was too stupid to realize the prophecy applied to certain people in current times. "I have a particular interest in the former Pharaoh and his successor. I didn't expect any of the High Priests to survive after that war. Very interesting it was… Very strong souls…"

Medea bellowed in rage, smashing her sword against the Seal. She only succeeded in knocking herself to the floor. Bezzelba returned her attention to her enemy. "You will have to marry the Pharaoh of Egypt, and you will have to do it in one year! Your eyes and ears shall be for my lord, and he will be able to keep an eye on things through you!" the sorceress informed. "He will be able to see and hear everything you do!"

"So you want to spy on the Pharaoh?" Medea inquired hotly, glaring at Dartz. "Do you plan on warring with him, you weirdo?"

"Something like that," he answered vaguely. He readied his sword. "I'm a lot older than I look, Medea. You won't be able to defeat me!"

"Wait! I'm not finished!" Bezzelba cried. "I want her to _suffer_! How is this a curse if there is no pain?"

"You want to add more to the curse?" Dartz spluttered. "Quit wasting time!" He held out his hand, but the sorceress beat him to the punch.

"Every step you take will feel like a thousand knives piercing your feet!" Bezzelba screamed at Medea. "Every-" But the sorceress could not utter another word. Dartz slapped her hard, and she fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

"Stupid woman! Always complicating things," he muttered bitterly. "Only _one_ condition! One! Otherwise I won't get her soul! The triangle you've created negates everything! But, I can still fix it… It just needs another angle." He turned to the redhead, whose eyes were large with disbelief. "Here it stands as follows:

You must marry the Pharaoh in order to save your soul. If you don't do this, you will lose your soul. However, because of the amendment Bezzelba had made, I have to offer an antithesis. If you manage to break Miru's curse, then neither of you will lose your souls, but _you_ will still die when you fail your task! Only by completing _both_ tasks, will you both live."

"What makes you think I can't get the Pharaoh to marry me?" Medea said, her cocky attitude returning. "With this body, it'll be a cinch!" She knew that in the depths of her mind, it was going to be a lot harder than she pretended. She could still hear Seti's cold voice telling her to never return to Egypt.

The King of Atlantis smirked and shrugged. "Go," he said, and the Seal apparently dissolved away. "Do as you like, Medea. I have more irons in the fire than you could possibly discover!" Medea bit her lip, gazing longingly at the form on the floor. "Don't try to kill her just yet," Dartz said, following her gaze. "I will still protect her for now, so it's useless if you try. You may try again some other time. Right now, you need to get to Egypt, and you don't have time to waste!" He watched her crash to the floor with the sudden pain of her first step. "Bezzelba's amendment will make things too difficult," Dartz said sagely without a touch of sympathy. "Here," he offered Medea a pendant containing a fragment of the Orichalcos. "This will prevent you from feeling pain as a result of magic, and it will allow me to watch everything you see through a scrying pool."

The redhead gulped, unwilling to be a spy for such evil people, but equally adamant to gain every advantage to breaking the nefarious spells placed upon Miru and herself. She donned the necklace reluctantly. It glowed green briefly and went null. "What about Miru's curse?" Medea asked. "How do I break it?"

"Ask him," Dartz replied, laughing. "Because I'm not going to tell you!"

* * *

**Aloe** in the language of flowers means grief. 


	5. Petunia

November 16, 2006 (never posted)

Revised November 17, 2007 (okay, that's just creepy…)

I revised Chapters 1 through 4 before revising the chapter I never posted, which is this chapter. I also decided to title each chapter after a flower.

* * *

**Egyptian Requiem**

By _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Chapter 5: Petunia

_So many people!_ Miru thought as he gazed around the Egyptian bazaar. Medea and her son rested in the shade of an alley between the stalls of a fish vendor and a lapis lazuli dealer. Egypt was more mystical, enchanting, and different than anything Miru had imagined before! His light colored eyes bugged out in wonderment as he raptly watched the many people of all different assortments meander past. It had taken several treacherous and ill weeks to reach the port of this foreign kingdom, but it had all been worth it in Miru's opinion.

Before, he did not even want to come.

The first thing that had happened was he had cried. He did not want to leave his home – the only land he had ever known. His mother had insisted that it was necessary to break the curse. She packed what they could carry against Miru's protests. She had sold everything else. The profit still was not enough to cover the cost of a carriage to the port of Gaul. It would have taken far too long to walk the distance; they only had a year, and the cycles of the sun and moon never slowed their dance. Miru could not accept his mother on her knees, and he vowed to help her in any way he could.

Since they needed speedy transportation that she could not afford, she sold the last luxury she possessed: her hair. Medea cut it personally, accompanied by Miru's silent gasp and the leer of the merchant. Miru remembered how creepy the man had been. He collected and sold human teeth, fingernails, pieces of tattooed skin, and rare colored hair. Miru could remember his large belly that had engulfed the room in shadow, his balding hair and yellow teeth. If he had planned on hurting his mother, Miru was ready to hurt him! However, no harm was done, and he had paid Medea enough gold to transport her and her son all the way to the Nile Delta without having to walk very far.

Miru would glace back at his mother resting in the shade every other moment. He wanted to make sure that she had everything she needed or if there was anything he could do to help. The Egyptians were exotic to Miru, but not as strange as the sight of his mother with short hair. It was longer in front than in the back and fanned out slightly to frame her face. To Miru, it made his mother's appearance a little more masculine. He wondered how long it would take to re-grow.

Now that he had turned four, he felt as if he was the "man of the house." He had spent his birthday sea sick green on their voyage across the Mediterranean Sea. He decided that with his father gone and no one to take care of his mother, he was going to have to grow up and be a man. Miru had accomplished a great achievement during their arduous journey: he accepted his father's death. His mother had told him that Phael's spirit was a part of the wind, and now Daddy would be watching his son through another man. Miru eagerly anticipated that man, and he knew he would recognize his father once he found him!

They developed a rudimentary sign language, born out of frustration. His mother caught on quickly, and they soon had a vocabulary over 2,000 words and their own grammar. Nouns were easier than verbs, and abstract thoughts were harder still. But they both managed, and his mother had even contributed to refining the different signs and coming up with new ones. It did not take long for Miru to tell his mother how to break the curse upon him, and her reaction was comical in his opinion.

He remembered how wide her eyes became when she realized he was not telling her that she had to get fat but pregnant! She looked as if she might have fainted. Miru had not learned the concept of the passage of time, and to him a year seemed like a long time to get pregnant and give birth, but his mother seemed to think there was a reason to hurry. So, now they were in Egypt, and she was slowly but surely making her way to the palace.

Miru had not told his mother what else Bezzelba had done to him. He preferred to pretend it never had happened, because it caused him to feel ashamed of himself.

* * *

Medea and Miru were now between the dried fruits vendor and the embalming merchant. The smell of the embalming fluids made Miru sick, and he buried his face in his mother's bosom. She had closed her eyes, resting momentarily. Nothing bothered her for her mind was intently set on reaching the palace. Medea would figure out what to do next. She had practiced a hundred different speeches to the Pharaoh in her mind, but none were satisfactory. She let out a sigh and stroked her son's hair absentmindedly. 

A fight had broken out between the man with the dried fruits and the woman with the embalming liquids. The man insisted that her concoctions were driving away his customers, and she insisted that no one wanted to buy his wrinkly rotten fruits anyways! The fight had attracted the attention of a large crowd, and Medea and Miru watched with interest.

A malignant looking man spotted Medea through the throng of people edging closer to the fight. He took a long look at her lengthy figure, assets, and exotic features. He noticed Miru, too, and small silver and gold coins danced in his vision. He rubbed his hands with relish, plotting how to spend his fortune. With the shouting of the venders, no one noticed a woman and child being abducted in the nearby alley.

Medea had put up an incredible fight. The slave trader now nursed a broken nose, cut lip, two black eyes, and a couple bones that felt like it might have been broken. He was bandaging his bleeding leg, courtesy of Miru, who presently glared at him, bound and gagged unnecessarily next to his unconscious mother, who laid on the cart pulled by two camels. The slave trader spat at him and shouted for his aids to keep an eye on them as he stood up and strode over to his camel in the lead of the line. "Come on! We've got buyers to sucker in Upper Egypt, and I don't want to be late!" He urged his camel to its feet, and they caravan set off towards Thebes.

Medea awoke several hours later as the sun was setting, tasting rope in her mouth. They had tied rope around her head to gag her, and also around her wrist and ankles to prevent her from escaping; or, as the slave trader feared, more harm to his person. His traveling companions - assistants, fellow slave traders, and merchants - could not understand what all the fuss was about. So, by nightfall, there were several versions of tall tales circling around about the demonic woman and her hellion imp from the lands across the sea from the great delta. The slave trader was so disturbed by their taunts he nearly cried.

They stopped at night, lit a dozen small fires, and huddled around them. They brought the animals and captured people to be sold into slavery under the care of one extremely burly and formidable Nubian, one of the slave trader's assistants. He removed Miru's and Medea's gags, but he left their hands and feet bound. He carried everyone personally over to the fire so no one was cold. Medea thrashed, trying to free herself, screaming curses.

She ended up gagged again moments later.

Miru gave her a look that plainly said, "At least you're warm," as she sat on the cold sand staring into the fire morosely. Medea refused to cry. The pain of losing her beloved husband was still very intense, and the guilt still burned hot within her. The determination to free herself and her son overpowered her emotions, and she resolved to stay strong. She made a deal with Dartz by accepting his magic stone; she did it to save Miru.

She only hoped that she was not making a mistake.

* * *

The Pharaoh stepped out into the open courtyard. The water-lilies floated gently on the still surface of the large pool. The sun's reflection on the water blinded the eyes, and Seti sought refuge in the shade of a date tree. He sat down, not caring about getting his skirt dirty. He kicked off his golden sandals, letting the sand creep up in between his toes. He was alone, lost in his thoughts. 

He had forgotten all about the redheaded foreigner whom he had confronted in the room next to him. He had even already put his mind to rest on the day's events. Everything was proceeding according to plan. It seemed as if the busy days would come to an end soon. _What will I do with all that spare time?_ he wondered. _Perhaps give special training to the army. _The thought immediately reminded him of his father.

The tall figure of Aknadin loomed over him, holding a sword to his throat. Seto had lost again. The image remained burned in Seti's mind. He still struggled with the memories of his father. Part of him hated Aknadin for abandoning him and his mother, and part of him was grateful for the guidance he had received while training to be a high priest. Seti still had no regrets over killing the monster his father had become, for he chose to honor the memory of the beloved mentor he once knew.

Also, Seti still yearned for Kisara. Love at first sight could hardly describe how he felt, but his obsession over her and her death had not been assuaged. Her baa had been passed to him, and for some unknown reason, Seti found that it multiplied. He assumed this might have something to do with his grief, but he was not sure. Mana could not explain the fact that there were now three white dragons. He found them very useful, and put two of them to work right away, while the third he kept in reserve.

Seti thought of Kisara every single day, in every moment that his mind could spare a thought. He still agonized over her needless sacrifice, he still woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, and her breathtaking image came to him when he felt lonely. He wished he knew more about her. All he had was her image…

He leaned back lazily against the trunk of the tree, watching a dragonfly flit from lily to lily in the pond. Somewhere behind him a call of a heron could be heard. The atmosphere was as hot and arid as ever, and the warmth blanketed the pharaoh. _Who could ever replace Kisara?_ He rubbed his naked arm absentmindedly, remembering her touch.

A singsong voice cut through the pharaoh's reminiscing, "You'll burn to a crisp if that's all you're wearing!" He turned to see Mana walking towards him. She smirked at Seti's near nakedness and rare immodesty. "Come and see what I've got for you!" she exclaimed giddily.

"I won't burn sitting in the shade," Seti replied lazily, not moving. He closed his eyes, pretending she was no longer there.

"Seti!" Mana cried, annoyed. She knelt down beside him, poking him in his bare chest. "You have got to see what I've been working really, really, really, really hard on!" she reiterated, giggling. "I promise you're going to like this!"

"Somehow, I doubt it," he answered. She continued to poke him until he grabbed her hand. "Stop! I'll go, but you are going to return the favor by filling in for me on the council of domestic affairs this evening."

"NO!!! That's boring!"

"Hence why I'm having you do it!" Seti smirked triumphantly. He let go of her hand, stood up, and indicated that he would follow her lead to what ever it was on which she had been working. She bounced to her feet and skipped through the door into the large foyer. Mana led the way up a couple winding stairs, until they came to a newly restored wing of the palace.

Seti groaned, "I could have you executed for this…" It was another empty threat, and Mana was used to those. She smiled and opened the door to a large room. In it were about a dozen or so beds, soft fabrics strewn about in a mess, and veils over the windows. There were three women sitting down, and all of them promptly stood up and paid their respects when they saw the Pharaoh enter the harem.

"See! I started collecting only the prettiest women I could find for you!" Mana exclaimed. "You said I could!"

"I did not!"

"Yes you did!"

"I d-" Seti stopped short, fearing what would turn into another circling childish argument. "Mana, I said that I would think about it. I didn't say that you should start… doing… _this_." He gestured needlessly.

And it went ignored. "This is Oshairana, but everyone calls her Apricot." She pointed out a young maiden with straight brown hair and blue eyes. Her appearance strongly resembled Mana's, so Seti's first thought was that Mana was exceedingly vain about her own looks.

"Only the prettiest women you can find, huh?" he remarked sarcastically. Oshairana blushed and hung her head slightly.

"Yeah!" Mana agreed enthusiastically. "This is Shemei, she's an Amazon!" She pointed out a foreign woman with long, wavy blonde hair and sharp, hawk-like violet eyes. Shemei smirked at the pharaoh, almost daring him to retort. He ignored her and followed Mana's gestures to the third girl: "This is Nafrit. She's Egyptian, but I think her grandfather was a Phoenician nobleman, so she's got good blood!" Nafrit brushed aside her auburn bangs and smiled as best as she could, nervous as she was. Blue eyes looked coldly into hazel ones for a moment, as if considering her existence, but then Seti turned his gaze to the floor.

Mana beamed at her small collection. Seti made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, turned on his heels, and walked away without further comment, leaving behind four shocked women. Mana trailed after him quickly, her footsteps echoing in the hall. "I promise I will find more!!!" she exclaimed. "This is only the beginning! I am going to meet a slave trader from Lower Egypt, who says he's got some fresh cargo!"

Mana received no reply, and the hardened expression upon the Pharaoh's face would not yield clues. However, when Seti passed through a door with Mana one step behind, she got the door slammed in her face.

Mana stood still, stunned. Her nose was touching the door, but she had not been hurt. The shock evaporated faster than a puddle under the Egyptian summer sun, and the young magician scowled and muttered half-hexes under her breath. Determined as ever to make Seti see reason, she marched down to the stables and demanded a chariot.

* * *

**Petunia** in the language of flowers means three things – resentment, anger, and "your presence soothes me." 

**Oshairana** – means fruit

**Shemei** – means desire

**Nafrit** – means virgin

Special thanks to Skippy's Cat for all the help you gave me nearly a year ago! Thank you.


End file.
